


You Don't Belong To Them

by Proskenion



Series: Who You Belong To [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Art Inspired, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Branding, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Marking, Pain, Torture, whiteley foster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23198965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proskenion/pseuds/Proskenion
Summary: After the apoca-doesn't, Aziraphale comes to spend the night at Crowley's place. Just after they swapped their bodies, an old wound starts burning again - courtesy of Hell, to remind Crowley they are not finished with him.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Who You Belong To [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667878
Comments: 26
Kudos: 156
Collections: My Lot Don't Send Rude Notes





	You Don't Belong To Them

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts).



> Hello hello ! 
> 
> I'm back with the second part, as so many of you asked for it! I hope I won't disappoint you :) And I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all your kind words and support on the first part <3 
> 
> It came sooner and longer than I expect… But I guess it's good news, right? ;)

The bus left them just at the entrance of Crowley’s building, the driver vaguely wondering how he ended up in London – but a few hours later he would have forgotten it all, or just remember it as if it were all a dream. Crowley hold the door for Aziraphale and they silently walked to the lift. A soft awkwardness was fluttering around them, not strong enough to really disturb them, more like just a teasing breeze. Aziraphale cleared his throat, drawing Crowley’s gaze on him, and the lift stopped. 

When they came inside the flat, Aziraphale commented on the plants – _so those are the famous houseplants you talk about, they look radiant !_ – making Crowley blush slightly, though the angel remained oblivious of his friend’s quick showing of emotion, and when he turned to face him Crowley was back to his usual smirking expression. Aziraphale chuckled, a way to try to disperse what remains of the cloudy discomfort between them. He felt dizzy with joy of finally being allowed into Crowley’s lair, although he wouldn’t admit it even to himself – not yet. Crowley offered him a drink, his everlasting smile stuck on his lips. _Please, let the mask fall tonight_ … 

They drank, one, two, three glasses. Not more, it wouldn’t be reasonable, not with what happened, with what Agnes’ last porphecy implied. That is what Aziraphale said, and Crowley couldn’t disagree, even though he had wished for a few more drinks. ‘So, now ?’ he asked. 

‘Well, I suppose,’ Aziraphale answered. 

They looked at each other, the awkwardness coming back a little, just for a moment. Then Crowley offered his hand. Aziraphale looked at it, and said ‘for better or worse.’ He took it. It felt strange, like a tickling waves running under their skins, developping slowly as their bodies changed shapes, going away from them into the other like the sea and the sand mingling on the shore. When it was done, their fingers lingered together a little before parting. They looked at each other again. ‘Blimey,’ Crowley muttered with Aziraphale’s voice.

‘As you say,’ Aziraphale answered, Crowley’s way of speaking tasting weird – _though familiar_ – on its tongue. He looked around, suddenly bothered by the lack of light. When he realised it was because of the sunglasses, he made a gesture to take them off. 

‘Don’t !’ Crowley exclaimed. Aziraphale looked at his own body walking to him in horror and the image stroke him cold. He knew it wasn’t him, but Crowley, but his mind couldn’t quite register it for a brief instant – _I’d have never reacted that way if_ … 

‘Why ?’ he asked. Crowley blushed, his eyes – _my eyes_ , Aziraphale couldn’t help but think – unable to meet his. Finally, the demon mumbled, ‘I don’t want to see them.’ The words felt like a wasp stinging Aziraphale’s heart. 

‘Well, I wish I’d seen them more often,’ the angel confessed in an undertone. Though when he looked up to Crowley, he found himself face to face with his round, crimson face, and at the heat he felt on his own cheek he knew this time it was like looking into a mirror. He chuckled – it seemed to be his only weapon against embarrassment. 

Aziraphale screamed. A sudden, deep scream. Folding on himself, he collapsed to the floor with a hand on his – _Crowley’s_ – left shoulder. Crowley stood paralysed. ‘It burns,’ Aziraphale managed to say between gritted teeth. Crowley fell on his knees, trembling like a leaf – _no, not now, not to him_ – calling Aziraphale’s name helplessly. Crowley watched, feeling utterly useless, at his own body curling on himself in pain, moaning and sobbing, a hand clenched on his shoulder, knowing all this suffering was meant for him and him alone, but was now tormenting Aziraphale – _an angel, my angel_ …

It stopped, as abruptly as it came. Aziraphale lied breathless, eyes closed, salted tears escaping his eyelids anyway. Above him, Crowley was trembling, just as out of breath, and not daring touching him as if his touch might burn him again. He was hardly holding back his own tears. ‘Aziraphale ?’ he called slowly. ‘Angel ?’ 

‘What happened ?’ Aziraphale’s voice came like a dying wind. Crowley felt his heart pounding against his ribs, achingly, fearfully. He couldn’t talk, words stuck in his throat, choking him. Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked up at him, making Crowley realise the glasses had fallen off his face. The demon gaped. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Aziraphale sat up slowly, head dizzy. He brought his hand to his collar in order to unbotton Crowley’s dark shirt and look at what had caused such a sudden burning pain. An icy shiver went down Crowley’s spine. 

‘No,’ he whispered, catching the angel’s hand in his, ‘please.’ Aziraphale’s eyes – _Crowley’s golden eyes_ – fell down on their hands. Instinctively, Crowley tried to draw his hand away, but the angel caught it quickly. Their eyes locked into each other. 

They didn’t talk. They only looked into each other’s eyes. They had no idea how long it lasted, maybe hours, or maybe just a heartbeat. Finally, Crowley’s hand relaxed between Aziraphale’s fingers, and with it his whole body. He looked down, breaking the contact first, and with a deep, exhausted sighed, he surrendered. 

‘Fine,’ he whispered. ‘Look.’ Crowley’s hand definitively escaped Aziraphale’s grip. The angel was still looking at him, unmoving, waiting for a sign he could really do so, hoping Crowley would look at him again. He didn’t. 

And indeed, Crowley’s eyes were closed tight. That was all he had left to prevent the tears from falling, to build a shield to protect himself from what was coming. Time seemed to stopped, leaving him alone and afraid, naked and miserable. He heard Aziraphale gasp. 

‘Is that… Is that a Leviathan cross ?’ Hearing the words said with his own voice made Crowley cringe. ‘They branded you !’ Aziraphale’s tone was angry, shocked, disgusted. It only made Crowley cringe even more. He jumped when he felt Aziraphale’s hand on his back, and curled up on himself into a ball, as if to escape him and disappear. But the touch was tender and loving and it made him relax in spite of his fear and reluctance. When he opened his eyes he was met by two yellow eyes – _my eyes_ – looking at him with so much love he almost lacked of air. Never those reptile eyes had look back at him this way before.

‘How did this happen ?’ the angel asked softly. ‘When ?’ Crowley’s lower lip trembled, a tear pierced through his eyelashes, rolled down his cheek to his mouth. He pinched his lips to emprison it and shook his head. 

‘Tell me, please,’ Aziraphale said. It felt odd for him to talk to his own body having a completely different body language, something hurt and shrivelling and… slithery. As for Crowley, the sound of his own voice speaking so softly, so caringly to him was such an icongruity that it felt wrong, almost scary. He felt Aziraphale taking his arm and before he knew it he was standing. ‘Come on my dear, let’s have a drink.’ 

Crowley followed, took the glass, drank. The alcohol somehow woke him up. Aziraphale and him were sitting next to each other on his sofa. Incapable of looking into his own snake eyes, he looked down at his hands. When Aziraphale asked if he was ready to tell him about this brand, he sneered. 

‘Remember the French Revolution ?’ he asked sarcastically. The words flowed out easily, to his own surprise. He hadn’t think of it much since then, trying to forget – though they had made sure he wouldn’t completely forget – but he actually remembered the whole thing vividly. The fear, the hopelessness, the pain, the loneliness. When he finished, his tale was met only by silence. He fidgetted, nervous, and finally looked up. Aziraphale seemed transfixed, paralysed. Crowley watched as a glimmering flash seemed to glow through Aziraphale’s new body’s skin. A flash of pain, distress, and wrath. ‘This is all because of me,’ the angel said, voice hoarse and blank. 

‘No !’ Crowley protested. ‘It’s not because of you, it’s… I was careless, I…’

‘I never realised all the risks you were taking to help me.’ Aziraphale turned his face to Crowley, expression so apologetic and deeply hurt that it almost made the demon cry. He hated himself for all the pain he was causing him – he was never supposed to know about it all. ‘And yet you kept coming to my rescue, no matter what. And what have I done in return ? Oh, Crowley, I’m s…’

‘Don’t say it,’ Crowley interrupted. He tried to find his usual teasing tone. ‘You gave me the Holy Water, remember ? Been damn helpful !’ Aziraphale chuckled, but with no joy. 

‘Took me some time,’ he mumbled pitifully. ‘This is what it was all about, isn’t it ?’ Crowley nodded slowly. Aziraphale sighed. 

‘They didn’t do it because of you,’ Crowley said. ‘It wasn’t properly a punishment. It was… Well, t’was their way to remind me I belong to them, and make me remember it always. As if my eyes weren’t enough,’ he added, spiteful. 

‘You don’t belong to them,’ Aziraphale answered firmly. This made Crowley laugh, a dark, hopeless laughter. 

‘Who do I belong to, then ?’ 

‘You belong to yourself.’ 

Crowley wasn’t expecting such an answer. He gaped, blinked, let the words sink in. _I belong to myself_ , he kept repeating to himself. _I belong to myself… And to you_. Words he wouldn’t say aloud. Not yet. It was hard enough to say them to himself. 

‘Why did it burn now ?’ Aziraphale wondered. ‘Is it because of the body swap or something ?’ 

‘No,’ Crowley replied after considering it a little. ‘They can’t know about that. It just means that Agnes’ prophecy is true. They aren’t finished with me, that’s what they want me to know.’ 

They glanced at each other. Crowley paused to watch his own body in front of him fidgetting in a way only Aziraphale would, and it made him smile. But the emergency of their situation came back to him like a slap. He suddenly felt excruciatingly guilty. ‘I’m sorry,’ he let out in a breath. ‘Look, angel, if you…’ 

‘Don’t you dare suggest we swap our bodies again,’ Aziraphale cut him short, softly but firmly. ‘ We agreed. I won’t let them hurt you, not anymore.’ A wave of love and gratefulness washed over Crowley like a floud. He felt the urge to fall on Aziraphale’s neck, to hold him close and tight and cry against him – except it wasn’t really Aziraphale sitting near him, at least not Aziraphale’s body, and the demon still was too self-conscious to act in such a way. So instead, he said : 

‘Well, I think I’ll go to sleep now, if you don’t mind,’ He stood up. He hadn’t realised how tired he was until saying the words aloud. 

‘I don’t mind,’ Aziraphale replied. ‘Actually, I think I’ll go have a sleep with you. If you don’t mind,’ he added quickly. 

Crowley felt his heart jump in his throat. But when he spoke, he managed to keep his voice steady. ‘Sure. The bed’s large enough for both of us.’ 

They lay down side by side in Crowley’s bed, the awkwardness crawling back again to cover them only for a moment. It was all gone when they fell asleep, leaving only peace and safety to watch over them. Peace, safety, and belonging. As the strangest night of all time was keeping London quiet, their two bodies found each other in their sleeps, and in the morning they would awake hands in hands, a feeling as natural and familiar as if they had done so for millenia – since the beginning of time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
